


the kind of things money just can't buy

by queer-z0mbies (LaVoileBlanche)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e02 Love Letters, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Episode: s05e02, This is Soft(TM), patrick pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 20:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20233801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaVoileBlanche/pseuds/queer-z0mbies
Summary: "The store was supposed to have closed fifteen minutes ago, but it doesn’t seem like David’s noticed."Okay, so. I feel like Patrick was kind of harsh after the robbery, and I just wanted to fix it a little? So this is just a moment of Tenderness(TM) at the end of the day.





	the kind of things money just can't buy

The store was supposed to have closed fifteen minutes ago, but it doesn’t seem like David’s noticed. Patrick has been leaning against the cash desk for the last little while, watching him organise and re-organise the same three shelves of scented candles into increasingly obscure arrangements without showing any awareness of the time, or Patrick’s eyes on him.

He’s been quiet, since the cop left. Patrick figured it was residual embarrassment, maybe a desire to make up for the morning’s mistakes; as much as he teases, he knows David cares deeply about the store, and it must be bothering him, what happened earlier. Still, Patrick, God help him, likes David loud and unapologetic, bold and stubborn and ridiculous—the quiet was a fun change for a minute there, but he’s ready for it to be over. It makes David feel—nonsensically—a little bit out of his reach, almost but not quite the way it had been before their first kiss. He folds his arms across his chest, shifts a little to get more comfortable against the counter. 

“David?”

It takes a moment, but David turns, eyebrows raised, palms splayed and hovering at chest height, fingers half-curled inwards. “Yes?”

“It’s five-fifteen. We were supposed to close up already.”

He nods, but in the way that Patrick knows means he’s about to disagree. Alexis does that, too, bobs her head in accord just a second before she contradicts whatever it is that’s been said to her. He wonders who started it, who picked it up after. He’ll never ask—as apparent as it is how fiercely they love each other, both Rose siblings would react with sheer disgust if he ever suggested they had something in common besides genetics. 

“Yeah, um, no, I know,” says David. He glances down, twists one of his wide rings around his finger, looks up again with one corner of his mouth screwed into a frown. Patrick has never met anyone quite as incapable of hiding their feelings—David should _ never _ play poker. “I just thought we could stay open a little later tonight, to make up for…” His gaze flits around the store while he gestures with one hand, never quite meeting Patrick’s eyes. He lets out a breath. “You know. The robbery.”

Patrick feels his mouth kick up on one side, a Pavlovian response to David’s David-ness that he has no hope of unlearning. “Ahh, the robbery.”

He still doesn’t know if _ robbery _ is, strictly speaking, the right word, but he’s looked at the books and since the store isn’t going to go broke because of it, he’s feeling much more sanguine about the whole affair than he had been a few hours ago.

David flushes, then nods again, lifting his nose into the air. “Uh-huh, yeah.”

He reaches for the little pots of cream on the table between them, turning a few of them ever so slightly towards him. It’s important to him that the labels face outwards—Patrick has had ample opportunity to observe this. He tilts his head, watching him fuss. There’s actually nothing wrong with that display, but still David hovers over it, eyebrows pinched together, and Patrick feels the half-smile fading.

“Hey,” he says. David’s eyes jump to his, and he waves him over, one-handed. “Come here.”

David hesitates, just for a second, then puts down the little tub he’d been holding and makes his way over, coming to a stop in front of Patrick, who wastes no time in getting his hands on his shoulders and winding him in a little closer, linking his fingers at the back of his neck. He’s pleased when David’s hands find his waist in return. 

“We don’t need to keep the store open,” he tells him, voice lower now that they’re so close to each other. The robber hadn’t taken much, really—only as much as they’ve already lost in discounts to Stevie and the Roses. Nothing they can’t make up. 

David looks unconvinced; when Patrick runs his hands over his shoulders, he can feel the tension they’re holding, hiked up like a drawbridge, close to his ears. He likes David’s shoulders, the breadth of them, the solidity; he pushes his fingers gently into the bunched up muscle and likes that, too, the way they turn a little looser at his touch, the way David sways a little towards him. 

“Are you sure? Because I don’t mind staying. I mean, I think my dad wants us all to go out to dinner to celebrate my mom being back? But she’s going to spend the whole time talking about Bosnia, and honestly, this morning she seemed even more unstable than usual, so. I can let Alexis handle that. If you think we should stay open,” he says, mostly looking at Patrick’s mouth. 

As flattering as that is, Patrick waits until his gaze flicks upwards before he nods, giving his shoulders one final squeeze before he releases his grip and instead slides his hands beneath David’s cardigan and into the back pockets of his jeans, tugging him an inch or two closer into the space between his feet. It’s not a move he would ever have tried, with Rachel or the other girls he’d dated—something about it always felt disrespectful, proprietary, almost vulgar. It doesn’t feel that way, with David. So far, nothing he and David have done has felt anything less than easy—inevitable, even, a thousand moments of casual intimacy that have only ever made some part of him go _ of course,_ _that’s_ _ what it’s supposed to feel like _. Like there’s nothing in the world more natural than his hands on David, David’s hands on him. Like it was what they were made for.

“I’m sure,” he promises, looking into David’s bright, dark eyes, half-smiling again. David just nods; Patrick feels his fingers twine together, low on his back, feels him playing with his rings again.  
  
“Okay,” he says, sucking in a breath. “I mean, if you’re sure.” 

He’s back to avoiding Patrick’s eyes. Patrick frowns. He’s about to ask him what’s wrong when he feels something vibrate against his palm—David’s phone, buzzing with a text. He pulls back a little to fish it out of his pocket and offer it out; David takes it, eyebrows pulling together. Patrick watches him read the message, his mouth twisting up like a screw being tightened, his nose wrinkling.

“Everything okay?” he asks. David nods again.

“Yes, yeah. It’s just Stevie.” He rolls his eyes meaningfully, and Patrick fights down another smile.

“Oh, sure, Stevie. What does she say?”

“Um.” David bites his lip, looking indecisive, a little nervous. He studies Patrick’s face through narrowed eyes, then flips his phone around so that Patrick can read the screen. 

** _(17:18) Stevie: Are u still w Patrick? Is he still mad?_ **

Patrick furrows his brows, blinking up at David, confused—and then more confused when he reads the apprehension just barely evident on David’s face.

“I’m not mad,” he says, still frowning. “Why does Stevie think I’m mad?”

David plays with the corner of his phone case in what is transparently a stalling tactic, and doesn’t look at Patrick.

“David?” Patrick asks. “What am I supposed to be mad about?”

David shrugs, stepping back, and Patrick can see all the tension that’s returned to his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he says, lifting his hands and then dropping them. “It’s _ Stevie_. I guess she just thought—” He cuts himself off, jaw jutting sideways as he folds his arms uncomfortably over his chest and, finally, looks at Patrick. “You seemed kind of mad, earlier.”

Had he? Patrick blinks again, thinking back. He remembers worry and relief, most strongly. Of course, when the full story came out, he hadn’t been _ thrilled _ that Stevie and David had managed to do such a spectacular job of giving their stock away, and their stumbling effort to defend themselves to the police had been nothing short of embarrassing—but had he really seemed so angry that Stevie would feel the need to check in about it, all these hours later? He feels his frown deepen. Did _ David _think he was still angry? Was that what all this had been about, his uncharacteristic silence, his willingness to stay late? 

“I’m not mad,” Patrick says, hearing the faint note of bewilderment in his voice. David rolls his eyes again, tightening his arms.

“Mm’kay.” he says, squinting. “You say that _ now_, but what about when we have to close the store for good because I couldn’t tell whether somebody was hiding an assault rifle or just their hand inside their cheap, ugly hoodie?”

Patrick doesn’t let himself smile at that, even though he wants to. God, but he loves David.

“I don’t think that’s something we need to be worried about,” he says. He steps forward, and when David doesn’t stop him, leans in and puts his hands on his waist. He likes it when David doesn’t wear sweaters; he can feel the warmth of his skin through his white t-shirt. David uncrosses his arms reluctantly. Patrick takes advantage by pressing a little closer to him. He has to look up to meet his eyes. “But if the thought bothers you that much, I’ll look into getting a better security system, okay?”

David rests his hands very carefully on his shoulders, brushing them up and down the way he likes to do. Patrick endures it patiently. “Do you mean, like, a cute, muscly bodyguard-type?”

His voice is light, careless; Patrick sees it for what it is—a test, to make sure they’re okay, that they can joke about this. He pretends to consider it for a moment. 

“Actually, I was thinking more like cameras—CCTV, something we can show the cops and the insurance people in case anything like this happens again,” he says. “But, you know, if it’s a bodyguard you want, we can start putting out ads. I know Ray’s always looking for new areas to expand into.”

David wrinkles his nose again. “You heard me say cute, right?”

Patrick smiles. “I did.”

He pushes up to press a kiss to the underside of David’s jaw and David tilts his head back ever so slightly, allowing it. He links his fingers again, resting them at the back of Patrick’s neck the way Patrick had done to him, and sighs.

“It’s just,” he says, “if _ you’d _ been here, or like, if _ Alexis _had been here, it wouldn’t have happened.”

Patrick presses another kiss to his skin, then pulls back to look at him, splaying his hands wide over his lower back.

“Maybe not,” he allows. “But who knows? I can’t speak for Alexis, but I happen to pride myself on my customer service ability. Maybe if he asked nicely, I would’ve given him twice as much stock as you and Stevie did.”

David narrows his eyes, but Patrick can see the slanted smile threatening his expression, which is all he’d really wanted. “Okay, you’re trying to make me feel better, but you _ are _actually very willing to go the extra mile for our customers, so.”

He leaves one hand on Patrick’s neck, thumb skimming back and forth over the skin above his collar, and slides the other one down between them, laying it flat over Patrick’s heart. Patrick could pick up the thread of the joke, pass it back and keep it dancing teasingly between them like a spark from a bonfire, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just looks at David, steady-eyed, until David’s expression goes soft, the same almost-smile curving his lips, but quietly, now, like there’s something in Patrick’s gaze that makes it safe to stop. Patrick feels the magic thrill of that trust every time it’s handed to him. It’s a rare and precious thing; he never wants to take it for granted.

“You know,” he says, voice soft, “missing stock aside, I’m pretty happy that our first robbery shook out like that.”

David frowns lightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if I had to choose between losing out on some brie and tapenade, and seeing you or Stevie hurt?” He shakes his head. “It’s not even a question. _ You _are the most valuable thing in this place.”

David’s mouth almost quirks all the way into a real smile before he reins it back in. He can’t do anything about the way his eyes shine, though. “What about the lip balm?”

“Oh, well, that’s different. That’s a bestseller.” Unlike David, Patrick doesn’t try and hide his smile. “I’d have to think about it.”

“Mmm,” David agrees, and tries to look serious even as the grin wrestles its way free, spreading beatifically across his face. Patrick has to kiss him, then; luckily, David is already leaning down towards him, still smiling when their mouths meet. 

When they break apart, Patrick brushes the tips of their noses together, refusing to draw back more than a few inches. 

“I’m sorry if I was too harsh on you guys, earlier,” he says. “I promise I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” says David agreeably. “I’ll tell Stevie.” 

But he smiles and presses in to kiss him again, so Patrick figures the apology probably meant something to him, too. He doesn’t mention it; half the art of loving David is knowing how to pick his battles. Some things are worth leaving alone—more than worth it, with David’s mouth opening so sweetly under his. 

“Come over tonight?” Patrick murmurs. When David nods, he revises, “After dinner, though. You should spend some time with your mom.”

David makes a face. “Ugh. I am literally going to be hearing about Bosnia until I die.”

He’s ridiculous; Patrick is in love with him. He never wants to stop being struck by it like this, in these unmemorable little moments. He kisses him again, just once, briefly, then pulls almost all the way out of his arms. 

“You can tell me all about it, later,” he offers, and David sighs.

“That would imply that I’m interested enough to remember any of it,” he says loftily, unwinding his hands from Patrick’s neck. Patrick catches one of them before he can lift it completely away, and ducks his head to lay a kiss against the back of it, smothering his grin against David’s well-lotioned skin. In thirty years, he had never known that he could be so easily, effortlessly happy as he is when he’s with David. When he lifts his head and lets David’s hand go with a gentle squeeze, the look on David’s face makes him think that he must be thinking more or less the same thing. No wonder Stevie can’t stand them. 

“I love you,” he says, because it’s true.

“Love you, too,” David answers softly. Three times in his life before he’d met Patrick, and now at least once a day; to the best of Patrick’s knowledge, David has never said _ I love you _ and not meant it. He cannot believe how lucky he is.

“Enjoy dinner. Say hi to Mrs. Rose for me.”

“_U__gh _,” David says, emphatically. 

Later, he’ll knock on Ray’s door and Patrick will let him in and take the overnight bag from his shoulder; maybe they’ll watch a movie, maybe they won’t. Either way, at the end of the night Patrick will settle down to sleep with David half-curled around him, his head pillowed on his chest and his dark features like dashed lines of charcoal in the weak moonlight that creeps through the window, his mouth slightly parted, his back rising and falling gently under Patrick’s fingertips as he breathes. His sleep-softened features will be the last thing Patrick sees before he closes his eyes, and Patrick will think, not for the first time, that he would be happy if every day would end like this. Today, David somehow turned a robbery into a lesson on perfect customer service; Patrick’s hand will slide beneath David’s shirt and find warm, perfect skin, and before he gives in to sleep, he will find that he cannot wait to see what tomorrow will bring.

**Author's Note:**

> Schitt's Creek is literally a gift, David and Patrick single-handedly convinced me that love is real.


End file.
